You’ve seen the posts. “I create from the heART.” “Art heals trauma.” “My brush is my therapy.” And for many, that’s entirely true. Creativity has helped people through grief, loneliness, mental illness, and more. That’s real. That’s valid.
But here’s what isn’t:
The idea that all art must come from pain.
That if it doesn’t come from suffering, it isn’t deep.
That beauty is lesser if it’s not born from struggle.
Let’s be clear: Art is not inherently therapy. And it shouldn’t have to be.
Sometimes art is a practice. A discipline. A career. A challenge. A moment of technical brilliance. Sometimes, it’s just beautiful because the artist knows what they’re doing—not because they bled all over the canvas.
And yet, we’ve cultivated this modern expectation that to be meaningful, art must be emotional. Worse—that the artist must be emotionally wounded. That trauma is the source of truth. That only those who suffer have something worth saying.
No.
Pain is a path, not the path.
Creating to survive something is valid. But so is creating because you love colour theory. Because you’re fascinated by perspective. Because you want to master light and shadow like the Old Masters. Because you want to make something beautiful and put it into the world. Full stop.
The obsession with art-as-therapy has done something dangerous. It has infantilised artists who take their craft seriously. It has devalued technical skill, long-term practice, and the quiet pursuit of excellence. It has made some artists feel that if they’re not pouring trauma onto the page, they’re not “real” creatives.
This has to stop.
You can be a great artist without being broken.
You can be a thoughtful artist without excavating your past.
You can be a respected artist and still say, “I make art because I enjoy it.”
And that needs to be enough.
Because when we position all creativity as therapy, we lose something: the right to simply make. To practise. To build. To explore.
Not every writer is working through childhood wounds. Not every painter is healing their inner child. Not every photographer is trying to “find themselves” through light and shadow.
Some are doing the hard, skilled, professional work of creating. And they deserve to be taken just as seriously as those who do so for healing.
This isn’t about dividing artists. It’s about freeing them.
If you create from pain—wonderful. That’s powerful. But let’s stop pretending that’s the only source of power. The act of making art is valuable whether it emerges from joy, precision, curiosity, or boredom.
Art is not therapy. And it shouldn’t have to be.
